


Where the Heart Is

by Chancy_Lurking



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Background Relationships, Everyone Thinks They're Together, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Families of Choice, Fandom Trumps Hate, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Love Confessions, M/M, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 06:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20943590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chancy_Lurking/pseuds/Chancy_Lurking
Summary: “Couples are more than welcome to room together.”Steve freezes up, feels his eyes go a little wide before he can help himself. He stumbles over his words, “Oh, I—No, we’re not—”“We’re not going to give you any trouble about that,” Fury presses, turning to squint at them head on. “Stark likes to say we’re opened minded and close-knit. Your private life is your business, but you don’t need to hide here, understand?”Steve goes to reiterate that they’re not a couple, but startles when Bucky’s hand settles on the small of his back. He looks at him like he’s lost his mind, but Bucky’s just smiling at him. “Never can be too careful these days,” he says.(Steve and Bucky pretend to be a couple when they move in, but at some point, it stops feeling like pretend.)





	Where the Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [finnfreak7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnfreak7/gifts).

> This is my Fandom Tr*mps Hate Piece for FINNfreak7! Thank you so, so, so much! I know it’s taken a million years to get done, but I hope that means it’s fully cooked and you enjoy it! ❤ 
> 
> Shout out to Fangirlshrewt97@ao3 and thelandofladymarvel@tumblr for beta reading this for me, you guys are The Cat’s Pajamas and The Bees Knees, too.

Nottingham is the sort of neighborhood Steve’s mother would’ve walked him through for Halloween.

The homes weren’t so extravagant that it would feel like begging to show up with a tiny little toilet-paper mummy, but they definitely had more porchlights and candy than their own street. As a grown up, Steve has the presence of mind to know he and Bucky don’t _ look _ out of place, you he still can’t help feeling it. They pass for average 20-somethings, but between Steve’s artist salary and Bucky’s veteran’s pension, there’s only enough money between them to make the bills each month for a dingy apartment down on Creekside. This area is way outside their territory, even if it’s closer to the VA Bucky frequents and the studio where Steve occasionally teaches drawing courses. They feel like _ tourists _here.

Still, Peggy giving them a reference is the only reason they even got this viewing. Not to mention they don’t have a lot of options, what, with their current apartment about to renovate so they can justify doubling the rent next month.

In short, when they get to the address the landlord texted them, they’re greeted with a place far nicer than Steve has ever lived in in all his years of life.

“Well…” Steve starts and looks over to meet Bucky’s gaze. They both snort at the same moment, Bucky scratching at his stubble.

The boarding house was a brownstone just like every other one on the block, if a little freer in its decoration. There were a few DIY wind chimes around the front windows and a string of paper cranes is visible through the glass of the front door. It feels like the rent should be _ higher _ than they’re presently paying, by quite a lot.

“It’s quaint,” Bucky offers, looking at the wrought iron fence around the front yard. “Neighborhood seems nice.”

Their standard for nice is pretty damn low, but even then, this is _ nice. _

“So, what do you think is wrong with it?” Steve asks as they head up the walk.

“Bugs?” Bucky guesses.

“Nah,” Steve shakes his head, looking at the neatly trimmed grass, only broken through with the occasional dandelion or wildflower, especially around the birdbath. “Yard’s too nice for that.”

Bucky squints up at the upper floor, the sharp angle of the attic room. “Maybe it’s just small.”

“Can’t be smaller than the place on 14th,” Steve points out.

“Jesus, no, you practically slept under me that whole lease.”

They’ve lived in several similar situations over the years, but honestly, those memories are some of Steve’s favorites. When they were brand new adults, living where they could get in, before Bucky went overseas. They’d tried to maintain some dignity about having to squeeze into one bed and turn to fit past each other when they stood up in the morning. Steve still remembers the night they decided sleeping head to foot was stupid and wound up spooned up, ‘_like little Victorian orphans_’ Bucky had said into Steve’s hair as they laughed. It was just another way they became closer friends; Steve would take a tiny mattress in their own apartment over loitering on a friend’s couch any day.

“Yeah, I slept under you, it was a twin bed, where else would I sleep?” Steve shoots back, looking at the upper windows. “I don’t think a tiny mattress is the problem here.”

“It runs a little hot in the summer,” a voice calls from behind them.

Bucky half startles, but there’s no weapon at his waist even if his hand flinches for it. He turns like it didn’t happen, facing the man standing a little way down the walk.

Though the man’s eye shot to Bucky’s hand professionally he rather kindly doesn’t comment. He looks them over and nods to himself, looking for all the world like he was approving of his daughter’s prom date.

“You must be Steve and James,” he says, offering his hand. “I’m the landlord, Nick Fury. Call me Fury.” That is not even remotely a request.

Steve shifts like a guilty kid, caught talking shit by way of introduction. He catches Fury’s hand. “Steve Rogers,” he introduces, “Sorry about that, we just—”

“No need, suspicion is for smart men,” Fury says, turning from him. “Sargent Barnes?”

Bucky’s face twitches a little at the title. “Just Bucky, sir.”

Fury nods. “Alright, Bucky and Steve,” he fishes a keyring out of his pocket and pushes into the gate. “Let me show you around.”

The hall past the coat closet—full of things that are mostly not coats and an overfull shoe rack—shotguns into a dining area. They pass an opening to the living room, full of windows and nice, if well-worn, furniture. There are pictures along most of the walls and knickknacks strewn about, ranging from cheap plastic to expensive looking scientific models. They duck in to see a cozy kitchen off to one side, complete with a grocery/chore wheel, that opens into a brightly lit dining room.

“The others tend to hang out all over the house,” Fury explains, opening the French doors out to the back patio, “but I figured I wouldn’t overwhelm you with everyone at once.”

“There are five others here?” Bucky asks, because he and Steve had a lengthy conversation about whether or not he thought he could handle that before they even agreed to meet Fury. Sharing dormitories in the military had been one thing, but there’d been a significant amount of time and trauma between there and here. He shrugs his aching arm, even if the prosthetic has no reason to hurt right now.

“Yeah, four regularly, but Thor keeps a room for when he’s stateside.”

“_Thor? _” Steve repeats.

Fury snorts. “His parents were hippies,” he tells them, then turns to step back inside. “Sometimes his partner will stay here, but we don’t see much of her. She’s an astrophysicist at the university, always busy. But of course,” he glances back at them. “Couples are more than welcome to room together.”

Steve freezes up, feels his eyes go a little wide before he can help himself. He stumbles over his words, “Oh, I—No, we’re not—”

“We’re not going to give you any trouble about that,” Fury presses, turning to squint at them head on. “Stark likes to say we’re opened minded and close-knit. Your private life is your business, but you don’t need to hide here, understand?”

Steve goes to reiterate that they’re not a couple, but startles when Bucky’s hand settles on the small of his back. He looks at him like he’s lost his mind, but Bucky’s just smiling at him. “Never can be too careful these days,” he says.

If Steve didn’t know better, he’d think Bucky was making fun of him, something that puts a queasy twist of nerves in his stomach. But it passes quickly when he realizes Bucky _ really _ means for him to play along with this.

“I—” Steve starts, already uncomfortably warm and it must show on his face. He has a number of questions starting with ‘_why? _’, but it’s not even close to the right time to start asking. Bucky has backed them into a neat little corner. Blowing their story so soon after he made it up would only make Fury distrust welcoming them into the house. He takes a half-step towards Bucky, because it’s instinct at this point, especially when he’s deeply confused and more than a little uncertain. “Sorry,” he says to Fury as Bucky rubs a hand up his back. “People say no for smaller reasons.”

Fury frowns, something angry and unsurprised in the lines of his face. “That’s not a reason to say no,” he says. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

Steve blinks at that ‘_your _’, but lets Bucky nudge him forward even if he can’t meet his eyes right now.

They pass by several other bedrooms on the way up to the attic room before Fury pulls out a key to unlock the door at the top of the last set of stairs. Even empty save for everything but a bedframe, it’s still more space than they usually get. It’s got a fresh coat of paint and a clean, functioning window with a lock on the inside. It’s quiet, save for the faint sound of the air conditioner and distant city sounds.

“Like I said,” Fury says, looking around the room, “It runs a little warm in the summer, but we’ve gotten the AC fixed so it shouldn’t get bad. Washer and dryer are in the basement and you’re welcome to use any other appliance you find. Anything breaks down you don’t know how to fix, let me know and I’ll get it done.”

“You’re talking like we already live here,” Steve says, because it couldn’t be that easy. Then he looks over at Bucky and remembers, it’s _ not. _

Fury shrugs. “I’ve been doing this a long time. If you want to wait to meet the others, that’s fine, but the choice is yours now. I think you’d be a good fit.”

The thing is, it’s not even really a question.

Of course, Steve could put his foot down about this, about the game Bucky is running, but it would land them back at square one. Less than a month to find somewhere to stay and far too much pride to borrow a guest room when they could have a place of their own. When they _ do _have a place of their own, apparently.

Looking over at Bucky leaves him, in spite of it all, seeing the future this could create for them. He sees them having a stable place where Bucky can focus more on recovery rather than day-to-day survival. Where Steve has time to work on his art and still sleep instead of picking up a graveyard shift mopping floors. He sees both of them sleeping more and being able to afford better groceries and—

Bucky reaches for his hand and Steve holds on to him because, whatever the circumstances, they do need this.

“Well, the ceiling is a little low for sun salutations, but at least the AC works and the landlord seems like a good guy,” Bucky says with a lazy smile that Fury snorts at. “We’d definitely be moving up in the world.”

Steve’s palm is sweating against Bucky’s hand, but he doesn’t pull it back or disagree. Instead, he smiles at Fury. “How soon can we move in?”

-

They make it about six blocks before Steve cracks.

“_Are you a bonehead? _ ” he hisses under his breath. “We’re not _ married, _ we don’t even _ act— _”

“Apparently we do,” Bucky says, looking at him sidelong. He shrugs when Steve stares at him in disbelief. “Steve, I already spend all my time with you.”

“Not _ romantically,_” Steve counters.

“You think we can’t pull it off? The guy pegged us as a couple the second he met us,” Bucky bumps shoulders with him. “Look, they clearly don’t want two bachelors coming in and fucking up the balance in the house. all I have to do is goose you and call you ‘hon’ every now and again. We can do that.”

“So, we lie,” Steve replies flatly, annoyed.

“So, we _ be ourselves,_” Bucky says and when Steve clearly doesn’t see how that’s different, he pauses at the corner, taking Steve by the shoulders. “They want stability, not two playboys looking for cheap rent and trouble.”

Steve runs a hand over his face. “Pretending to be a couple is pretty damn troublesome, Buck!”

“It’s not!” Bucky says, because doubling down to seem optimistic when the situation doesn’t really call for it is a trademark with him. “We move in and prove we’re decent guys. Then in a few months, we all have a good laugh. He probably won’t even tell the others, right? It’ll be funny.” He jostles Steve’s shoulders a bit, “You’re such a Boy Scout.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, shoving him off heading and for the approaching bus, ignoring Bucky’s laughter.

They’re really going to do this and Steve just tries not to think about how _ spectacularly _this is going to backfire.

-

As they’re packing up the old place, Bucky’s nerves are wearing a little thin at Steve’s nervous chattering.

Steve’s been a little on edge ever since they’d finally decided to move in, to be honest. Bucky knows that leaning into being a couple was probably not his _ best _ plan, if anyone is really even able to call it a plan. But he really doesn’t think it’s going to cause too much trouble, though. The other tenants will probably get a kick out of their boss horribly misjudging their relationship, even if Fury seems like the type to be annoyed, he won’t be _ angry. _ Probably. And keeping up the schtick shouldn’t be all that hard either, because—well, come on, it’s _ Stevie. _

They’ve been friends since they knew what the word meant, and living out of each other’s pockets for most of their adult lives. They _ do _love each other, could say so without hesitation or question. So ok, maybe Bucky’s wondered what Steve would be like if he ever got his shit together to ask a girl out. A good girl, not all the ones who wouldn’t give him the time of day before he outgrew his asthma and bulked up.

Actually, he _ can _ imagine it. He can see Steve, charming and sweet, showing up with flowers after work just because and asking to slow dance in the living room. Are they going to go on dates? Bucky doesn’t know, but he can easily see himself sitting with Steve at a diner, knees pressed together, dunking his fries into Steve’s shake. He can see it because they’ve _ done _that. If the only thing that changes is Steve kissing him occasionally, then, well…

Bucky can admit in the privacy of his own mind that he’s wondered about that, too.

They’ve talked about all this, in the week since meeting Fury. They’re committing to this bit, but not at the expense of each other. Steve already knows all Bucky’s little hang ups about being touched by surprise and Bucky knows when Steve needs to be close to someone to feel like he’s not coming out of his skin. They’ve shared rooms and beds, they’ve shared a million little incidental touches over their relationship; they know how to do this. Even if Steve still looks a little nervous, he’d come around enough to come from a rolling boil to a simmer. Whatever’s gotten under Steve’s skin in these past few hours is some new bug and it’s making him hover.

“What, Steve?” Bucky says finally, when Steve’s pacing starts to grate. “The carpet is already thin enough, don’t wear it out before we get our security deposit back.” Steve sneers at him, but it’s still endearingly fond. Bucky sizes him up, “What’s wrong?”

Steve doesn’t often hesitate and doesn’t start now. “I know we’re just pretending, but this isn’t a joke.”

Bucky faces him completely then, brow dipping at his outstretched hand, but taking what he’s given. He goes very still at the wedding ring in his palm, small and well-worn. _ Sarah’s. _ “Steve…”

“Ma always liked you anyway,” Steve shrugs, false-casual like his eyes aren’t shining. “Figure she wouldn’t mind you holding onto it, you know?”

“_You _don’t mind, do you?” Bucky says, because this ring is the one thing they never once considered selling in all their scrimping and saving. He knows exactly how important this was to Sarah and how important it is, in turn, to Steve. “We can always—”

“No, keep it,” Steve insists, closing Bucky’s hand around it. “It’s nicer than letting it sit in a box.”

Bucky laughs. “Gotta get that on a resume. Bucky Barnes, better than a box.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “But just as empty in the head.”

“You sure know how to make a guy feel special,” Bucky grouses at him, only to pause when Steve doesn’t let go of his hand. Moving where Steve puts him is another facet of their relationship Bucky has never looked too closely at. He’s a knucklehead, Bucky needs to stay within grabbing range when Steve inevitably causes trouble. Still, even now in their own apartment, Bucky goes when he’s pulled.

Still, he feels like he slams to a bit of a halt when Steve tugs him in for a kiss.

It’s nothing deep or showy, nothing any more intense than what Bucky expects out of first kisses. Steve is a perfect gentleman with one hand warm around Bucky’s and the other politely at his side. Even so, Bucky’s heart is pounding in his chest and he can’t figure out what to do with his hands like he’s a fifteen-year-old fumbling with his first girlfriend. By the time he gets his brain back online, enough to have the thought that _ he knows what Steve kisses like, _ Steve is pulling back, pink in the face and smiling sheepishly.

“Figured our first kiss shouldn’t be for an audience,” he says in the slight space between them.

Swallowing his heart back down to where it belongs, Bucky nods, aiming his voice for casual. “That’s fair.”

“You gonna tense up like that every time?” Steve teases, laughing when Bucky lightly claps his cheek.

“Stow it, pal, you’re blushing like a dame,” Bucky snaps at him like his own face isn’t fever hot.

“A _ dame? _God, what year do you live in?”

Even if the mood in the room settles after that, Bucky can’t think about Steve’s lips against his without his heartbeat picking up. He tries to focus on packing up the last of their things, digging through that old box of cufflinks and stopped watches for a chain for Sarah’s ring.

All in all, it’s a sweaty affair getting everything packed up and then scrubbing at the dirt lines they can’t prove were there when they moved in. Handing over the key is something of a relief, as is getting their 600 bucks back without too much of a fight. The landlord is probably just glad to have someone in the office who isn’t screaming at him. Likewise, Bucky and Steve are glad to rid the man good riddance.

The owner of the community center had generously allowed Steve to borrow a van for the day they moved. They pack it tight, some things shoved into the footwell under Bucky’s feet, but they get it all in one go.

Fury is waiting for them with matching sets of keys on the front step of their new home late that afternoon.

“Welcome home, boys,” he greets and Bucky can’t help but feel a rush of warmth at the thought. It definitely feels more genuine than the half-hearted move-ins they’ve had anywhere else. “Got everything?”

“Packed like sardines, but that’s all of it,” Steve answers as Bucky opens the van doors.

“Well, alright, lets get it inside,” Fury says, taking the box Bucky was holding, not giving him a chance to turn down the help.

Walking into the house feels different this time, both because they’re going in as actual residents, but also because it appears one of their co-residents is actually home.

Fury doesn’t call out to him, instead stomping on the floor solidly enough that it echoes hollowly as he makes his way over. The man looks up at once, giving a smile and a lazy salute, before picking up what Steve realizes is a hearing aid off the table. “Hey, new guys,” he greets as he stands up, clicking it into place. “Clint Barton.”

“Where is everyone?” Fury asks as Steve and Bucky set down their boxes to greet him.

Clint ticks off on his fingers. “Nat’s on her way in from work, Thor flies back in tonight, Bruce and Tony had an argument about particle physics or something, so they’re sleeping off Pepper’s Inside Voice Lecture.”

Steve can’t help but laugh at that last one. “Sounds like a doozy.”

“Pepper is 80% of the reason Tony is tolerable as a human being,” Clint informs him, deadpan.

As it turns out, Clint has a lot to say about the cast of characters Steve and Bucky are about to join, but even the annoying things—that Fury doesn’t exactly deny—are all said in a way that is blatantly fond. He genuinely likes living here and is glad to welcome in new people who seem to appreciate his brand of humor. The others are apparently excited, too.

House dinners aren’t exactly an uncommon occurrence, but apparently this is a special occasion that warrants an absurd amount of takeout and a fair amount of alcohol.

Steve and Bucky fit in right off the bat, laughing and chatting amicably with their new housemates. So of course, there has to be a little wrench thrown into the night a la the one and only Tony Stark.

“You know, I’m getting some serious old man vibes from you two,” he squints at them. “How long have you two been together?”

Steve feels his stomach drop a little, realizing they are woefully underprepared for the kinds of conversations they should’ve prepped on. He tries to jump in with an answer before Bucky can, spitting out, “Two years in May.”

As luck would have it, it’s the exact same moment Bucky calls “About ten years,” as he walks towards the kitchen.

The silence would’ve been horrifically awkward if not for the perfect timing with which Bucky turns around, playing up his annoyance, arms crossed and everything. “_Really, _ Steve_._”

Steve jabs his chopsticks at him right on cue. “Don’t ‘_really, Steve_’ me, wise guy, you didn’t say yes back then.” He doesn’t quite realize what he’s going to say until it’s coming out of his mouth, “I asked you to go to the chapel with me and you almost passed out.”

People always talk about the best lies being routed in truth. Steve doesn’t often angle to lie, but he thinks he can see the point of it. It’s easy to stick to the story if there’s a solid backbone of memory running up the middle of it.

Bucky goes completely still and Steve sees the exact moment he realizes what day he’s talking about.

About ten years back, before Steve’s body had finally stopped fighting itself, when he was in and out of the hospital so much, he knew the ICU staff better than he knew their neighbors. When they were well past their last-ditch medication, about to try a procedure still in the clinical trial stages, with a percentage chance of success Bucky couldn’t think about without looking ill. There was a night, before it all, when Steve was coherent and in pain, asked Bucky to wheel him down to the chapel.

It wasn’t surrender, not in Steve’s head, but it felt so close Bucky had a panic attack on the spot.

“But I still _ went_,” Bucky looks so concerned Steve thinks it might be genuine. He starts to look away, but then Bucky is immediately back at his side. “Hey, we were nineteen and I was scared to death to promise you anything when it felt like tempting fate, but I still went then and I’d go again now.” He moves to touch Steve’s shoulder before he stops, seeming to remember what they’re supposed to be. He cups the side of Steve’s neck instead, kissing the top of his head. “Made up for it, didn’t I?”

“An absolutely disgusting old-married couple,” Tony grouses like he’s agreeing with himself. He nudges Bruce. “Bruce, I think Fury’s trying to tell us something.”

Bruce doesn’t even look up from his pad thai. “He’s telling _ you _ we’re all glad your cheerleader phase is over.”

“_Cheerleader _ phase?” Steve latches onto with a laugh that he hopes doesn’t come across as too desperate. Tony seems like he likes to talk and Steve would love for them to talk about anything besides their fake marriage.

It’s clearly a familiar story, because everyone starts talking at once and immediately the mood shifts back to the warmth of dinner with friends.

At one point, Steve turns to correct Bucky’s _ completely _ fabricated version of a fight Steve _ did not _start and realizes they’re nearly nose-to-nose. It should startle him more, he thinks, that he only pulls back so he’s not looking at him cross-eyed, not at all bothered by the proximity. He wonders how one dinner was enough to get used to the feeling of Bucky pressed all along his side, his arm braced behind Steve’s back. Then he has the thought that it’s so close to real, that it doesn’t really feel weird at all.

If the best lies are the ones that are half-true, Steve has to wonder what the truth of this is.

The night ends with Steve’s cheeks slightly sore from laughing, but the thought sticks with him when they get into bed together. The bed is big enough to keep space between them, but neither of them cares enough to bother with maintaining it.

It’s starting to seem like there’s never really been a space between them worth maintaining.

Steve doesn’t quite know what to do with that thought.

-

They do flesh out their story, eventually, over ‘date night’ of all things.

It isn’t any different than any other night where they allow themselves to “_Stop living like they’re in the depression _” as Bucky puts it. Steve gets off work and Bucky is a little sore and strung tight from P.T., looking to get out of the house. So, they’re sitting in a half-empty movie theatre to see something easy that neither of them really cares about. It’s an excuse to have popcorn and candy for breakfast.

“So, I’m thinking,” Bucky says over the pre-trailer commercials, dumping Milk Duds into his hand. “We’d been friends for so long we decided to _ give love a chance. _”

Steve’s face scrunches. “Don’t ever say it like that again.”

“We decide to _ give love a chance _ when we’re sixteen,” Bucky continues with a smirk. “I kissed you after we got kicked out of that movie theatre on 3rd. The time we went with the chicks from homeroom.”

It’s not exactly a fond memory, being the fourth wheel of a date when neither of the girls were really interested in _ Steve _ . But getting into a fight with the lunkheads in the third row was worth it. The night ended with Bucky’s arm slung around his shoulders saying “_Forget it, college girls’ll be different, Steve _” as he went home with Steve instead of his date. It’s definitely something that could’ve involved a kiss in another life. Or, in this one, as it were.

“You walked me home and kissed me on my porch, I was scared to death Ms. Johnson was gonna see,” Steve gives him a lazy smile. “But I was too much of a gentleman to ask you inside.”

Bucky laughs. “_That _night at least,” he teases, but carries on before Steve’s mind can chase that rabbit. “Got married in a hospital chapel at nineteen.”

“I gave you my mom’s ring because it’s all we could afford,” Steve says and there’s the truth tickling the back of his mind again. “Couldn’t even fit it on your pinky properly.”

“But it meant so damn much to me I didn’t care,” Bucky finishes and there’s an easy sort of earnestness to the words that makes Steve warm. “I promised you a ring as soon as we had the money to get a nice one and we just…” There’s a heaviness to the pause then, Bucky flexing the fingers of his prosthetic glinting in the dim light.

“It’s been hard,” Steve agrees with a sigh, catching the back of Bucky’s flesh hand. “We fought hard for a lot of things and we fought _ about _a lot of things.”

Bucky’s smile is tired, if fond. “Mostly about how much fighting you did every time someone looked at us funny.”

“Ok, you keep harping on that—”

The story isn’t that hard to stitch together, dozens of little moments in their lives going just slightly differently than they actually did. By the time the movie starts, they’re shoulder to shoulder, half-smiling because this is absurd, it really is, but it’s starting to feel more than just _ doable. _

It feels comically easy, as easy as leaving his hand on Bucky’s well into the movie.

-

While they don’t expressly set up any new rules for each other as a couple, there is at least one thing that establishes itself without prompting: Bucky never takes Sarah’s ring off.

There is never a point, except fresh out of the shower, that Steve is not hanging right over Bucky’s heart. It hurts a little, in a weird way, because Bucky is a little scared by how normal this feels. It’s barely a month into this little show they’re putting on when he starts feeling naked without the little gold ring on a chain around his neck. Once, while Steve is out, Bucky comes out of the shower and can’t find it and feels a legitimate stomach sinking fear.

Never in his life has he legitimately cared about a piece of jewelry as much as he cares about this ring. He’s half torn apart their room before he winds up storming frantically through the house half-dressed, honestly about to start taking the plumbing apart.

That’s the day he decides Tony is a menace, but also probably one of the nicest men alive.

Tony’s sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by papers and diagrams Bucky probably couldn’t parse on a good day. He looks up and visibly decides Bucky is more interesting than whatever he’s working on. “Uh-oh, I know that face. What of Steve’s did you lose?”

Bucky feels sick to admit it out loud, but he’s too panicked to lie. “I lost my ring.”

“Oh shit,” Tony winces sympathetically, standing. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’d kill you, just give you that horrible, ‘_I’m disappointed in you, son_’ face. You and I have similar types.”

“Have you seen it?” Bucky tries not to snap.

“No, but I have an RF gun that may speed up the search,” Tony says and for a split-second Bucky feels his temper flare up. Then Tony is actually heading to his room, “One sec, I had to hide it from Fury.”

That’s how he winds up learning a lot more about how the inner walls of a house work and how often people lose things. He also figures out that Tony is, as he would probably put it, more than just a pretty face. Bucky sometimes can’t take noise at all when he’s panicking, has to find somewhere quiet and dark to weather the storm. Some days, though, he needs someone else’s chatter to take up the yawning fear threatening to take over his mind.

Tony is perceptive enough, it seems, to pick up on that. Or maybe he's just chatty. Either way, it works.

In the hour that they wander the house with his _ handmade _ RF gun, he learns that Tony and Bruce both have several master’s degrees and met in the process of getting them. He hears several tales that are just absurd enough that Bucky absolutely believes Tony would drag Bruce into. Pepper is apparently at the very least half of Tony’s impulse control, with Bruce probably being another quarter. Bucky can’t shake the awful, queasy feeling in his chest, but he does try to at least mostly focus on Tony’s voice instead.

Still, when they don’t actually find the ring Bucky is well on the way to despairing. So, when Steve walks in and immediately stops in the hallway, seeing both of them crammed in trying to see behind the TV stand, he feels his heart stop for a moment.

Tony’s inner menace takes over and he quickly stands up, hiding the machine behind his back. “Good luck, Buckaroo,” he says, patting Bucky’s shoulder as he leaves.

Steve’s eyes narrow slightly. “What happened?”

Bucky stands up, sweating and shaky. “Uh…”

The suspicious look on Steve’s face evens out to concern and he comes in close. “Hey, Bucky, what happened? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t—I can’t find my ring—_Sarah’s _ ring,” he admits in a rush. “I looked everywhere, Steve, but I swear to God, it—”

Steve’s eyes go wide. “Bucky—”

“I swear to God, it has to be in this house, I _ never _take it off when I’m not here,” Bucky’s breathing is getting away from him. Then it’s squeezed to a near stop when Steve wraps his arms around Bucky, holding him tightly.

“No, no, shh, Bucky I’m so sorry, that was me,” Steve says quietly, right against his ear. “I noticed the gems were dirty and I had some extra cash this month. I got it cleaned for you.”

The words are slow to register, but then Bucky’s panic flees so sharply there’s nearly nothing left to hold him up. He wants to be annoyed, but the relief keeps most of it in check, nearly taking his legs out from underneath him. “Christ, Steve,” he scoffs shakily, dropping his face into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve adjusts his arms around Bucky, holding him closer. “I didn’t think you’d notice that fast,” he apologizes, “I’m sorry I scared you. Here.” He fishes into his pocket to pull out a new velvet ring box. Inside, Sarah’s ring and Bucky’s chain sit gleaming and unharmed. Bucky breathes out a sigh of relief when Steve takes them out, clasping the chain around Bucky’s neck. His hands linger when he’s done.

“Thanks for the heart attack, Stevie,” Bucky says wryly, holding the ring tightly.

“I won’t do it again,” Steve rolls his eyes, but does look contrite. Then almost like an afterthought—or maybe an uncharacteristic show of hesitation—Steve leans in to kiss Bucky’s cheek before he steps back entirely. “It… It means a lot to me that it means a lot to you, too. I’m sorry I didn’t realize.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, ignores the heat in his face. “It’s ok, Steve, no harm done,” he says, because he and panic are old friends and at least this time he can bash it away with the tiny weight of Sarah’s ring in his hand.

The thing about it is, Bucky isn’t really angry. It was a nice gesture; the ring does look pretty, gleaming brightly on his chest. Steve was just being the same sweetheart he always, it’s just… It appears neither of them expected Bucky to care about this ring as much as he does. Bucky isn’t mad.

More than anything, Bucky is just scared of the day he has to take it off for good.

Bucky Barnes has spent too much time walking around feeling like he’s missing pieces of himself, it’s not something he wants to get familiar with again.

-

Now that he’s really, _ really _paying attention Steve notices Bucky’s reverence of the ring. Often, just in normal conversations, or when he’s sitting on the couch, or up late because he can’t sleep, Steve catches him holding the ring around the tip of his finger. More than once, reverently stroking it with his thumb, like it actually means—

Steve turns away from that thought.

-

Thor constantly smells like rain and Steve can’t figure out _ why. _

The night Thor flew back into the country, Steve had assumed it was just legitimately the smell of rain. He’d come in soaked to the bone and smiling like he was genuinely thrilled about it.

“Thor is a fitting name,” Natasha had said drolly. “We have to keep the doors locked or he’ll run out like a puppy when it rains.”

Comparing Thor to a puppy is accurate enough that the thought crosses Steve’s mind more than once. He’s the most excited of all of the household to meet them, greeting them with a smile and a ‘Welcome Home!’ bottle of ale. “You and your husband are fine additions to the household!”

Though he seems to keep the company of a number of scientists, Thor himself is a historian that moonlights as a carpenter, so _ wood _ smell would make sense, but it’s not wood, it’s _ rain. _

Steve has passes him in the hallway on Saturday mornings when they’re both half-asleep, or accompanies him to antique shows, or when he sits beside him on house game night and can’t help but think about how good he smells. He doesn’t wear cologne, Steve broke down and asked one day, but it’s just another weirdly pleasant quirk of being around Thor.

“You are not the only one who has mentioned that,” Thor laughs. “My partner called me on it on our very first date.”

Bucky likes Thor, too, but Steve can’t help but notice the sour twinge of his mouth when Steve talks about him sometimes.

“Must be some kind of fucking pheromone thing,” Bucky grouses, “A big golden retriever leading people around by the nose.”

Steve is a little shocked by the tone of that, it didn’t come across nearly as jokingly as the words should warrant. “Are you… Are you jealous that he _ smells nice_?” Steve asks, face breaking into a confused grin when Bucky blushes huffily. “_Buck _…”

“What! You get all moony eyed around him sometimes,” Bucky defends, crossing his arms.

There’s a moment where Steve wants to remind him that there’s nothing to be jealous of, that this isn’t even a real relationship that’s being threatened. The thought of saying it makes his stomach sour though, so he leans into the play instead. “Bucky, you know you’re the only guy I got eyes for,” he teases, laughing when Bucky sneers at him.

“Yeah, and I got a taste for jerks apparently,” he snaps.

The others cotton on to Steve’s supposed crush and prod at Bucky for how it clearly rubs him. Thor is either oblivious or a troll and neither one of them can figure out which, when Tony wonders who would win in a fight and Thor says they should find out.

Steve stands there looking at Thor, shirtless and sweating in the yard, and it doesn’t occur to him how this is about to look at first. Before Steve Rogers ever even considered his attraction to men, he was just a kid who didn’t know when to back down from a challenge.

Thor is a hell of a challenge and they wind up breathless and sore for their troubles, but no closer to an actual answer.

“A formidable opponent,” Thor says, rolling out his shoulder. “Are you getting tired, Steve?”

“I could do this all day,” Steve says and honestly, it’s not a stretch of the imagination. What Steve lacks in strength compared to Thor—and isn’t _ that _an unusual thought—he greatly makes up for in stamina. They’d just exhaust themselves to no end and… If Steve’s eyes aren’t deceiving him, Bucky’s already turning slightly green.

Bucky’s face evens out when Steve turns to look at him, but not fast enough.

Thor latches onto it immediately, beaming and coming over to clap Bucky’s shoulder companionably. “Bucky, you are most lucky to have such a lovely husband in Steve!” he exclaims and if Steve weren’t already flush from exertion, he’d have blushed. Bucky definitely makes a run for ‘world’s most handsome tomato’ when Tony snorts beside him. “Any one would be lucky to have him, you have garnered his favor and fidelity.”

_ Troll, _Steve decides at the end of that, Clint throwing his head back and laughing at Bucky’s sneer.

“In other words,” Steve says, pulling his hair and planting a kiss on him. “You can keep your shirt on, we’re just playing.” The twist of nerves Steve feels in his chest when Bucky just stares at him, looking struck and flush, is a direct response to what a good look that is on his face. The look on Steve’s face is apparently equally transparent.

Tony coughs. “Get a room.”

Clearing his throat, Steve takes a step back, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, but Thor is still smiling at them.

Bucky is rubbing his thumb over his smile.

-

Bucky has to take a good look at himself after watching Thor and Steve spar.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal, not in the slightest. Thor is loyal to Jane in a way that could be described as devotional; it’s honestly sweet how Bucky catches him looking at her sometimes. And Steve would never even _ allude _ to infidelity, not even in a… a _ pretend _ relationship. Bucky has no reason to _ pretend _to be jealous.

There’s also no reason for him to actually _ be _ a little, _ tiny _ bit jealous.

Maybe it’s because there’s an ease to Steve’s interactions with everyone else, with the casual touching of a wrestling match. Of course, Steve touches Bucky without thinking, is almost constantly in his space when they’re together, but sometimes it’s like he remembers. Like all of a sudden, they’re supposed to be something they’re not and he doesn’t know how to do it, how Bucky will react to it.

The pause before Steve kisses him has shortened to a half-second, but it’s still there and it drives Bucky nuts that Steve ever hesitates to touch him.

So, Thor is shirtless and he and Steve are grappling and, okay, maybe Bucky’s mind wanders and he winds up feeling a little envious.

Of course, he’s not an asshole about it, it’s not a problem. Everyone knows he’ll pout and Steve will kiss his cheek and they’ll all be fine.

One day, Bucky is sweating like a pig when he comes in from getting convinced to go on a morning run with Steve before he joins Natasha for yoga in the backyard.

Tony looks blearily up from his coffee, slightly betrayed. “Barnes, I’m hurt, I thought you and I were kindred nocturnals.”

“I jog with him because he’s pretty,” Bucky grouses, digging through the fridge for the water pitcher. He’s honestly glad they met Sam today and the two plan to do the morning hell-circuit together without _ ‘Mr. Grouchy McWhinesALot’ _ as Sam put it. More power to them.

“Yeah, but _ 5am pretty? _” Clint says, clicking his tongue and dumping gross amounts of sugar into his coffee. “I don’t know, man, it’s a stretch.”

“Yeah,” Natasha says, taking the sugar from him before heading out towards the patio. “He’s at most a 7am. 6am if he’s shirtless.”

Steve doesn’t look up from where he’s shaking up his smoothie, even if he’s smiling at the teasing. “No really, you guys are hilarious,” he says, following after her.

Tony whistles behind him. “Damn, hate to see him go, but love to watch him leave,” he comments, making Steve toss his head back and laugh.

Bucky shoots Tony a look and, before his good sense can tell him otherwise, pats Steve’s ass. “Dibs.”

Clint laughs into his coffee, sloshing it over his hand. “Shit!”

Steve almost drops his smoothie he jumps so hard, turning to Bucky bright red and wide-eyed. He’s still half-laughing, though, so Bucky’s stomach drops for an entirely different reason when Steve says, “Don’t get yourself in trouble, hotshot.”

“If I didn’t want trouble, I wouldn’t have married you,” Bucky replies cheekily, a lazy smirk covering up the nerves.

That earns him an eye roll and a pat on the chest and a rush of affection so thorough he’s smiling all through breakfast.

-

They learn Steve has a fan a few months into their new lease.

There are several auxiliary members of the household that make themselves known from time to time. Pepper is around most frequently, mostly in passing to tote Bruce and Tony off to her apartment. Thor will also occasionally bring Jane around, who hardly ever goes anywhere without Darcy. Peter doesn’t show up as often, but apparently is rather attached to Professor Stark even after graduation. The kid is working on some project that makes Steve’s head spin even at the layman’s explanation. He’s brilliant and absolutely belongs in the Stark-Banner Circus.

Phil Coulson doesn’t really seem to mix into the rest of the crew, but only in the same way that Fury doesn’t quite mix in. He comes in one day with Fury while everyone is just hanging out around the living room.

They’re all grownups with jobs, many of which require weird hours, actually, so they try to make good on the days they’re all in the house and _ awake _ at the same time. This afternoon they’re playing a board game that honestly seems like it’s _ this _close to causing an actual feud.

Clint’s intense ranting immediately clears when he sees who walked in. “Phil!” He exclaims with genuine excitement so Steve turns to who’s come in. As it stands, he turns just in time to watch Phil’s smile go from pleasantly happy to see Clint to _ wide eyed, blushing shock _when his eyes land on Steve.

“Uh…” Steve feels how awkward his smile is, but he can’t fix it right now. He cuts his eyes to Bucky who just looks confused. “Hi? I’m Steve—”

“You’re _ Captain America, _” Phil says and sounds like he’s about to jump right out of his socks.

Bucky huffs a near silent laugh and Steve hates that he ever picked that handle sometimes. But hell if people don’t remember it, which is half the battle of making a name for yourself. “Oh! You follow my art page!”

“I’m sorry, your _ what? _” Tony puts down his cards to ask.

Natasha nudges him with her knee. “Grandpa, you have a _ blog? _”

“How else do artists make it these days?” Steve says and inadvertently sparks an impromptu art gala via cell phone.

Phil doesn’t expressly say how many prints he’s purchased, but given that he remembers some of the sketches by _ date_, Steve would venture he’s a frequent shopper. It’s…honestly, it’s really cool.

There are no days where Steve considers giving up his art, but there are times when he wonders if he’s doing this for anyone but himself. That’s enough reason, that’s more than enough. But having one other person—besides Bucky who thinks everything he does should be in a museum—standing literally in his corner makes him so absurdly happy, he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He and Phil are made awkward by how happy they make each other, just by existing as complete strangers. Less and less strange as the minutes tick by. Steve gets an actual, in-person, real life commission from a _ fan_.

By the time Fury and Phil finally leave for whatever it is they were headed towards anyway, Steve is feeling so inspired he wants to fill a whole sketchbook right now. He startles when one lands in his lap.

Looking up, Steve finds Bucky smirking at him as he falls onto the sofa beside him. “I know that look on your face,” he says, then lays on the couch dramatically. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

Steve laughs brightly, rubbing his hand up Bucky’s shin. “How much are you paying me, doll?”

Bucky scoffs, turning to Natasha for sympathy. “Check out this guy, he gets one fan and suddenly forgets all the little people.”

Natasha barely glances up from where she’s reading, curled up in the arm chair that Clint vacated for work. “Pretty soon we’ll have to schedule time just to see him.”

“I draw him all the time, he’s being a baby,” Steve tells her as he flips open the book. He decides not to mention the pages of studies he’s done on Bucky’s jawline alone. “I’m sure I’ll get around to you, too.”

That at least earns him a glance. “I might have a commission for you actually.”

Steve smiles. “Anytime, Nat.”

A comfortable silence falls over them then. Or, well, mostly silence; there’s been some low-level Black Flag playing through the wall since Tony retreated to his room. It’s the sort of background noise that makes the house feel lived-in and warm, though, as Natasha reads in the sunlight, Steve sketches just for the joy of it, and Bucky…

Steve’s pencil stills when he notices Bucky dozing. So often since he’s been back after the accident, he’s had to fight for every second of sleep he got. It was never worse than when they moved into a new place, with new people and new noises creeping through the walls. But now, with his legs thrown over Steve’s lap, soft heavy metal and the soft scrape of pages and pencils, Bucky looks eased, even in his dreams.

Just looking down at him fills Steve with so much love his heart floats up like a knot in his throat. He realizes right then that he’s made a terrible, terrible mistake pretending to pretend to be in love.

Drawing quickly and carefully, Steve decides he’ll just have to capture this moment while he has it.

They’re some of the best sketches he’s ever done, even if they’re also the saddest.

-

Something about getting caught in the kitchen at 3am is a great equalizer.

Things have gotten better for Bucky lately, in every sense of the word lately. Since getting back stateside, since getting the doctors and the medications sorted out, since being fitted for the most high-tech experimental prosthetic the VA grant could offer. Bucky isn’t ever going to be the same guy he was before he jumped in the fight, but when he fell out the other side, he still had Steve to help keep him upright. Things have gotten better.

There are nights when he dreams about IEDs and wakes up with a scream caught in his throat.

It was rough, when they were packed in a tin can so tight there was nowhere to get away from each other without wandering into the streets. Steve never faulted him for waking him up at night, even if Bucky could tell he was exhausted. It took a lot of talking to keep Bucky from sleeping in the tub some nights. That was then, though.

Now, when Bucky startles awake—broken out in a cold sweat, missing arm throbbing—Steve is right there, half sitting up, but no, it’s alright.

Bucky shakes his head at the question on Steve’s face, even though he’s trembling because this _ happens. _ It happens, he doesn’t always have to talk it out. He’s half asleep and Steve barely laid down a few hours ago, there’s nothing to talk about right now that hasn’t been said before. There’s a moment when he considers reattaching the prosthetic, but picking it up seems like too much to deal with right now. Leaning over, he kisses Steve’s head on reflex, hardly notices the way he stiffens in surprise. “Just getting some water.”

“Want company?” Steve asks cautiously, even as Bucky pushes down on his shoulder.

No, Bucky shakes his head again, he doesn’t really want company.

But he gets it anyway when he walks into the kitchen and nearly jumps in surprise to find Bruce leaning against the counter in the dark.

Bruce doesn’t say anything about the look on Bucky’s face or the tight set of his shoulders. It’s not like he’s really in a position of judgement, standing in the kitchen staring into space and letting a tub of ice cream melt between his hands in the middle of the night. So, no, he doesn’t comment, he just opens up the freezer and extends another carton to Bucky.

That’s not what Bucky came down here for, but what the hell could it make worse.

Posting up beside him, he takes the ice cream and sets it down so he can fish a spoon out of the drawer by his waist.

“It’s rough,” Bruce says eventually, eyes tired and sweater pulled up over his hands.

Bucky looks at him, nods, doesn’t feel like using his voice is his right now. He appreciates that Bruce doesn’t really seem to need it. It’s not exactly clear what Bruce’s monsters look like, but Bucky is familiar enough with being haunted to know sometimes talking would just attract its attention. Sometimes acknowledging it’s there is enough.

They’re standing together quietly for maybe fifteen minutes tops before Tony wanders in and stops at the sight of them. “Nobody invited me to the ice-cream social.”

“It’s an antisocial,” Bruce corrects immediately, handing Tony the dredges of his carton. “There’s a chatter limit.”

“You know, you can be really hurtful sometimes,” Tony whispers, jumping onto the counter beside him. He sets the spoon aside to drink the rest of Bruce’s vanilla bean. “Steve, stop hovering, we can stay as long as we’re quiet.”

Bucky whips around to look at the empty doorway right as Bruce says, “That’s _ not _what I said.”

Steve sticks his head in sheepishly, glaring at Tony. “I wasn’t hovering, I was going back to bed.”

That’s a damn lie if Bucky ever heard one.

“Sure, punk,” Bucky says and his voice still feels foreign in his throat. He swallows, nodding Steve over, warmed when he doesn’t hesitate a moment to come to Bucky’s side.

When they finally go back to bed, the sky is just starting to pinken and Steve resets his alarm for lunchtime. Bucky falls asleep with his face tucked right into Steve’s shoulder and tries not to think about anything outside the warmth of Steve’s embrace.

Sometimes, it seems, that’s more than enough.

Bucky wakes to find Steve still asleep, still right by his side, and thinks there’s nothing in the world he wants more than this, more than one more day with Steve. The thought scares the shit out of him, but Steve makes him feel like he can face down anything and come out the other side. He lays there watching the sun rise across Steve’s face and thinks, _ I love you, I love you, I love you _and means it in every infinite sense of the word.

-

Steve has an ‘emergency situation’ knowledge of several languages.

Before he was able to get up and move around, he spent a lot of time in bed drawing and reading through whatever he could get his hands on. History was always one of his favorites, but eventually he made his way out of the English section of the hospital bookshelves. The nurses were also good about entertaining him when they had the time, so he can confirm that he knows how to say ‘_Hello, my name is Steve. Please call my friend Bucky_’ and _ ‘Where is the hospital?’ _ and ‘_I am allergic to carbenicillin_’ confidently in six languages.

In all this time, though, he’s never thought to learn any Sign Languages.

[He has clumsy fingers for an artist,] Clint signs.

[Be nice,] Natasha smirks.

Clint hasn’t gone as far as to agree to teach him, but there are times where he’ll tell Natasha elaborate stories, half in Sign. Steve starts following ASL instructors online just so he doesn’t get left out of conversations when Clint because, to be honest, he’s hilarious when he gets ranty. It’s been slow going, but not as slow as Russian had been, so Steve isn’t complaining. It’s also useful for the middle of the night when Clint couldn’t be arsed to fumble his hearing aid back on in the dark. Those conversations are usually short, with Steve just guessing the gist of what’s being said.

That’s fair, he figures. Clint’s lip reading is spotty at best and he’s been doing it his whole life.

“That—that was too fast,” Steve says, then signs, [Slower. Can you repeat that again, please?]

“That question was right this time,” Clint says, [I said you’re very pretty, _ beautiful _even. Bucky is a lucky dog.]

Natasha snorts that time and Steve knows he’s being made fun of, but that’s pretty par for the course for being friends with anyone in this house.

“Bucky _ is _ very pretty,” Steve declares confidently even though he doesn’t think that’s quite what was said, judging by the way Natasha actually laughs.

“_Aw, babe, you flatter me,_” Bucky calls from the living room.

Clint chortles as he picks up his drink. “He’s giving you the finger,” he shouts over his shoulder.

“_Just one? I got two last night,_” Bucky replies.

Steve flashes bright red as Clint proceeds to choke on his soda, laughing “_Damn it! _” as he mops up his spill.

“_Just two? _ ” Tony calls, “ _ Bruce— _”

There’s the soft _ thwack _of something hitting Tony square in the face, followed by outraged shouting. Steve puts his head in his hands because, you know what, he loves these guys—easily and honestly—but they’re the fucking worst sometimes.

He looks up when Natasha pats his shoulder. [Welcome to the Circus. This is your life now.]

[But we all agree, you’re still very pretty,] Clint adds in.

Steve got it that time, sneers at him. “Gee, thanks.”

Thing is, they make jokes like that all the time, while Steve is very well aware they also mean every word of it. Bucky also means it when he says ‘_Yeah, he’s dumb as a bag of hammers, but at least he’s pretty_’ every time Steve gets into a little, teeny argument on the internet. Or decides to mouth off to some asshole catcalling women on the corner or any other of the similar things that happen in the day to day life of Steve Rogers. Bucky may joke about Steve’s pretty face, but it’s not quite a _ joke_, you know?

There’s always a warmth to it, when Bucky twists up his mouth and cups Steve’s cheek. “_You’re lucky you’re pretty, wiseass._”

Now, the thought that Bucky might find him pretty in a legitimate sort of way is plaguing him. It was a joke, Steve has never gotten past kissing Bucky because that’s not…what this is. That’s not what they have, nor is it what they were aiming for. It was just a joke, but it’s a joke that gets its claws into Steve’s hindbrain and doesn’t let go, wondering what it’d be like if Bucky actually let him—

Natasha setting her mug in the drying rack jerks him out of his thoughts and he focuses on her, tries to hastily sweep any other thoughts out of his head. She has a rehearsal tonight. “When do tickets go on sale, again?” Steve asks.

“Two weeks,” Natasha answers with raised eyebrows. “You and Bucky actually want to come?”

“Of course,” Bucky says, coming into the room to set his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “We’ve never even seen you dance.” He looks up in mock thought, “Except that one night when Clint brought home that _ Jewel of Russia _ and you and Tony—”

Steve coughs out a laugh and swats him in the stomach when Natasha just _ looks _at him, not even a proper glare, a threat in complete neutrality. They don’t discuss that night.

“She’s beautiful up there,” Clint tells them, at least partly because he’s a kiss-ass, but also completely earnestly, looking up at Natasha like she hung the sun.

Natasha arches an eyebrow like she knows it’s a ploy, but finds it just sweet enough to play along with. She hums at him and Clint hums back when she kisses his cheek. When she turns to Bucky, he looks surprised, but he leans down to her on instinct when she goes up on her toes to kiss him, too. Steve smiles at her when she leans down to kiss him, awash with affection.

“Be good, boys,” she tells him twirling her keys around her fingers.

Steve loves it here, he really does.

-

There’s a point at which Steve thinks they should’ve paused to talk about extracting themselves from this situation, but he’s pretty sure they blew past it months ago.

There are nights when Steve has sat out on the back patio with Natasha, her feet on his knee as they talk about everything, like the kind of friends Steve’s never had apart from Bucky. He thinks about telling her that he _ is _ just his friend, but the words always feel like they’re going to choke him. Instead, he tells her about how handsome Bucky was on prom night, tells her all the stupid things they got up to.

Maybe it would’ve been an appropriate holiday announcement, when they have their first house Christmas with the residents with no families to go home to. But instead, they’re tipsy on Tony’s eggnog and singing along to _ You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch_, kissing sweetly under the mistletoe. The picture of Steve laughing as Bucky kisses the corner of his mouth is hanging in the foyer like an accusation that makes Steve’s heart squeeze. There’s always a touch of guilt when he sees it, but also so much love washing over it, he can hardly breathe.

One night when they’re lying in bed, Bucky confesses—eyes closed and puffy, face hidden in Steve’s shoulder—that he almost spilled the beans when he agreed to go with Sam and Clint to a group session at the VA. With his friends’ hands on his shoulders and a half-dozen other eyes understanding, Bucky talks about the long walk back from the brink, the road they all had to walk when the fighting was done.

“Even when I said your name,” Bucky mumbles, “and got all choked up, they just looked at me like we were the same. I almost told them the story, I almost said ‘_husband’_, but then I just told them the truth, which is I love you so damn much, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes flash full of tears so fast he doesn’t have time to wipe them away, just ducks his face into Bucky’s hair. They stay in a tight tangle that night, breaths shaking with how much you can love another person and have them love you back just the same.

That’s the truth of it and they settle on it. The specifics have not come into question just yet and, maybe, if they don’t question it, they can keep a hold of it.

“Stevie,” Bucky says one morning and Steve looks up from where he’d been staring into space after tying his shoes. First to Sarah’s ring around his neck, then to his eyes. “Penny for your thoughts.”

It takes a moment for Steve to get the words out, trying to sort through the absolutely absurd circumstances that led them here. He thinks the last time he was this happy, he was a kid who hadn’t learned what grief was. “Thank you.”

Bucky squints at him, not exactly concerned, but a little confused. “You’re welcome. Wanna tell me what I did?”

“You make me happy, Buck,” he confesses softly. He can’t quite tell what his face is doing, couldn’t guess, because he isn’t quite sure what he’s feeling. It’s something so content it’s almost sad. He’s nearly getting choked up as he stands. “I really, really like it here.”

The silence that falls then seems oddly fragile, but then Bucky is in his space, hugging him tightly. “Guess my plan wasn’t so boneheaded after all?” he asks, voice coming out a little tight.

Steve laughs against his shoulder. “No, it definitely was, you just got lucky.”

“Sure did, pal,” Bucky says and Steve’s insides go liquid at the honesty in his tone. He can tell he’s blushing when Bucky pulls back, but he doesn’t feel too embarrassed to grin right in Bucky’s face.

“That makes two of us,” Steve replies, cupping his cheek before he steps out of his arms.

They’re supposed to be headed out. Steve is assisting with a charcoals session at the college in about an hour. Tony is supposed to be handling groceries this week which means Bucky has been designated as his supervision. So Steve expects him to follow when he starts down the stairs, and he does right up until they hit the front hall.

Steve turns to find Bucky staring at the picture of them from Christmas under the mistletoe. His gaze quickly darts around to some of the others that have popped up, varying groups, different times of year, Bucky almost always right at Steve’s side.

“Bucky?” he calls and Bucky turns to look at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Steve’s stomach does a little flip. “…What?”

No answer is forthcoming, but Bucky does come closer, the complicated look on his face not any more understandable up close. He’s searching Steve for something, but for the life of him, Steve can’t imagine what.

“_What, _ Bucky?” he asks again, because Bucky _ looking _ at him like that is enough to give him heart problems.

It’s nothing compared to the way Steve’s pulse rabbits out of control when Bucky pushes him back against the wall and kisses him.

Reacting to Bucky kissing him is basically second nature at this point, but it’s never been like _ this. _ There’s always been a sense of deniability between them, the sort of kisses that friends share and can laugh off later as a joke, as a dare that went a little too far. This is nothing like that, though. There’s no casualness now, nothing passably platonic as Steve falls back in shock at the urgency of Bucky’s kiss. Kissing has always made him feel loved, even when done in passing, but right now Steve feels _ wanted _in a way he’s never let himself hope for, not with Bucky. This doesn’t even remotely feel like a lie and that has Steve’s hands clenching in Bucky’s sides, like he’s a dream that might slip away if Steve doesn’t hold on tight enough.

When Bucky pulls back a fraction, just enough to be seeing without crossed eyes, Steve is a little breathless. It takes several moments for him to find his voice, to say the only thing he can think of.

“Bucky.”

“Steve.” Bucky’s thumb strokes over his cheek bone.

“Was that…?” Steve licks his lip, gets distracted by the way Bucky’s eyes catch the motion. “Was that for anyone?”

Bucky looks him right in the eyes, shakes his head. “Just us.” Those two words say so much about what this has come to mean to them.

Steve sucks in a surprised breath. “This… It’s been real the whole time, hasn’t it?” he asks, so relieved his voice is shaking.

The way Bucky’s looking at him is so lovestruck Steve couldn’t look away from it to save his life. “I think we’re the only ones who didn’t know,” he tells him, “Stevie, I… I’m not even sure how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

“Oh.” Steve nods a few times, “Oh, good, because—” There isn’t an end to that sentence, not one that Steve had really thought out anyway. He’s not feeling brave, he’s feeling _reckless_ and he’s just pulled Bucky in for another kiss—another, another, and maybe something more because they’ve _really _kissed and they can have this now—when the front door opens.

They jump apart unsubtly like caught teenagers while Bruce looks between them, the surprise on his face melting into a knowing smile.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair. “Hey, Bruce, so anyway, I should probably—” he jerks his thumb over his shoulder.

Steve clears his throat, rubbing self-consciously at his chin. “Yeah, don’t worry, I’m gonna be late, so ’ll—”

“See you,” Bucky pecks him, chastely, sweetly. A boyish smile on his face when he steps back. “See you later, hon.” He nods at Bruce as he slips back towards the kitchen, leaving Steve standing in the hallway, awkwardly avoiding Bruce’s eye contact.

“You know, Tony was just thinking about trying out his new speaker system tonight,” Bruce says because nobody can hang out with Tony long term without needling as a form of affection.

“Hilarious,” Steve says, but his cheeks are hot and he can’t quite wipe the smile off his face.

Even on the bus, even walking across campus, even trying to pay attention in class Steve is smiling and thinking, _ this is real. _

This is real and Steve is so happy he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

-

Their lives settle comfortably around them after that.

It seems like the others may take notice of their renewed honeymoon phase, but nobody chalks it up to this being a _ brand-new relationship. _ Steve and Bucky were always close, but there’s a novelty to being allowed to touch each other without having to make up some pretense for it. Steve messes with Bucky’s hair while they’re having drinks or Bucky kisses Steve’s fingers after stealing his coffee. They finally get the slow dance at midnight the way Bucky imagined Steve might like and leave date night holding hands. After all this time, they can turn to each other at night—shaking, though not with fear—and learn the love of hands they’ve never had before.

Bucky’s kneejerk, Hail Mary attempt to make sure they had somewhere to live is the reason he’s here.

Here, with Steve after his first art exhibit, with the friends who have become their family, watching him just about burst with happiness. Bucky is constantly struck by the fact that they have all of this.

Most of Steve’s paintings have sold already, so Bucky is sitting off to the side while the others mill about and chat. He’s sitting there, wildly in love with his best friend and thinking about the foundations of the life they’ve built together. Bucky wants this forever, wants _ Steve _ forever _ . _He can’t think of a better way to spend the rest of his life.

And he doesn’t have a single person to tell about it.

There are times when he admits, at least to himself, the group counselor was right that he might benefit from one-on-one therapy sessions. If for no other reason that to be a sounding-board, because Bucky has been locked in his head with this thought bouncing around so much it’s rattling everything else. There are times when he looks at Steve and can’t think of anything else, but the feelings eclipse the words every time. He kisses him instead, tries to give it to Steve that way.

Like tonight, where Steve is walking towards him looking like sunshine personified and Bucky is so proud of him, so wondrously happy for and in love with him, that everything else fizzles out of focus.

There’s been a thought sitting on his tongue for weeks and weeks, growing more distinct with time, so when “Let’s get married,” jumps out of Bucky’s mouth, he’s not even surprised.

Everyone else freezes in shock, though, the others’ casual conversation dying sharply as they all whip around to look at them.

Steve stares at him, not for the first time, like he’s lost his mind. “_What? _”

“No, I mean—” Bucky stands up from where he’d been leaning casually on the table, suddenly shaky. He’s not quite flustered, but this isn’t exactly the smoothest he’s ever felt, letting his mouth get ahead of his brain. He doesn’t know how to do this any way but honestly. With Steve, his best bet has always been telling the whole truth.

“We never had a wedding,” Bucky explains, for Steve and nobody else. “I don’t want a hospital chapel in the middle of the night to be the whole story. I want—I want to do this right, ok? After everything, we deserve to do this right. I want to buy you a ring and I want to put on a stiff suit and cry like a baby when you walk down the aisle, because…” He watches Steve suck in a surprised breath as he realizes Bucky is completely, dead serious. Bucky takes a breath, too, before he continues.

“Because I have always wanted to spend the rest of my life with you,” Bucky says and the words aren’t scary, not any more, they’re just true. “I’ve wanted that my _ whole _life, even before I really knew it, back when you were just a scrawny, punk kid getting me into street fights.”

Steve laughs, bright and choked as his eyes well with tears. His hands are shaking when Bucky reaches for him, but he takes them and holds on tight. “Jesus, Bucky…”

“So, I’m asking properly, right here, _ seriously,_” Bucky says and, thinking about it, goes down on one knee. “Stevie—”

Bucky about falls flat on his ass when Steve drops down to throw his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. He laughs and catches him, can vaguely hear someone jumping up and down behind him.

“Is that a yes?” Bucky asks.

“Yes!” Steve exclaims, pulling back to cup Bucky’s face and kiss him several times right in a row. “Bucky, God yes.”

The cheers that break out around them sound about how Bucky feels inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Again, Finn, I have to thank you so much for trusting me to give you a story. Love it or hate it, I’d love to hear from you. You were a joy!
> 
> Check out the other Fandom Tr*mps Hate pieces in the collection and be sure to keep your eyes open for next time!


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